Inverse Effects
by Mr Toulouse
Summary: Just a collection of short, sometimes fluffy, Hermione/Pansy HGPP one-shots. Updates whenever.
1. Introduction

_Author's note : Based off of the 100 Themes Challenge. I'm doing this to get a good handle on the characters, so I'll probably be updating sporadically._

_This is my first time writing for this - or any, for that matter - fandom, so any comments and/or criticism is greatly appreciated, yeh :3 And if you see any typos, please let me know X3_

Introduction

The first time I met her was on Platform 9¾ while I was waiting, for the very first time, for the Hogwart's Express to arrive. I was leaning over the handle of my suitcase, fingers nervously drumming the bar, as I scanned the dock for any familiar faces.

Instead, my eyes fell on her. Frizzy brown hair, her eyes a deep hazel, she looked confused - no - she looked overwhelmed or amazed by all of this. I knew then that she was probably muggle born.

But instead of looking down on her with disdain when she sat next to me, I shook her hand when she offered it. Instead of verbally assaulting her with names like "mudblood", I volunteered her my name when she gave me hers. Instead of doing all that was expected of me as a pureblood, I started up a conversation with her, forging a sort of friendship - or maybe that was just me, to her I may have just been a distraction until the Express' arrival.

Her name was Hermione Granger and I couldn't get her out of my mind even long after Draco came to get me once the train had arrived. He had looked at her with disgust - my blood boiled a bit - and afterwards made it sound like he was doing me a favor by dragging me away from there.

--

I didn't see her again until the sorting ceremony later that day when her name was called. I admit, when she walked up there I had my fingers crossed, hoping she'd be sorted as a Slytherin - though I knew better than that, she wasn't the type - she was instead sorted as a Griffindor .

It was a good while before it was my turn and by then she would've had the chance to hear all about the ever standing Griffindor-Slytherin rivalry and I knew I'd never get the chance to speak to her again. My name was finally called and I sluggishly made my way up to the stool, dreading to hear what I knew was my fated sorting as a Slytherin slide out of the hat's mouth.

It took a moment to ponder my destined house - probably sensing my inner turmoil about Hermione's sorting - but ended up proclaiming me a Slytherin, anyways. I was kind of saddened by this as I headed towards my rightful table - although I know I should be proud - until I looked out on the room.

And saw her staring right at me. She was grinning ear to ear and gave me a thumbs up, despite my sorting. I returned the smile and as I sat down, I couldn't help but feel overjoyed.

_Author's note : Thanks for reading 3_


	2. Love

Love

I love the winter.

I love the snow that covers the grounds _it reminds me of your skin _it's always so pure and unblemished.

I love staring up into the clear night sky _it reminds me of your eyes _I just can't look away.

I love celebrating Yule _it reminds me of your smile_ I just can't be angry, then.

I love the sound of the wind against the walls _it reminds me of your soft laughter _I wish I could listen to it all day.

I love sitting by the fireplace in the common room _it reminds me of your touch _it's always so warm.

I love being the first out in the new snow _it reminds me of your hushed words_ only for me.

I love the winter_ I love you._

_Author's note : I hope this was understandable. It was meant to be from Pansy point of view, but I suppose it could work from either's X3_


	3. Memory

Deep in Thought

Hermione fancy's herself an organized person, right down to her thoughts.

Her mind is divided distinct and equal parts, like drawers in a filing cabinet, if you will. Each one clearly and evidently labeled for ease of use.

If she needed to remember the precise wrist movements for a particular spell she would search in the "Spells" section, found right next to "Must Remember To Do".

If she needed to remember the birthday of a person, she would look in the "Lesser Dates" part - "Important Dates" being a section that is reserved only for tests and projects, of course - or maybe in "People of Interest", depending on who.

If she needed to remember the ingredients for a particular potion, it was as simple as opening the "Potions" compartment - which are further divided based on the properties and difficulty of execution.

Or if she maybe ever needed to remember what the names of the seven cats Aunt Tilly - who isn't really an aunt, but an old lady who used to live next door and bake cookies sometimes - owned were, she just might peruse the "Things I Wish I Could Forget" category.

But at that moment she wasn't doing any of those things. She wasn't looking up a spell, remembering a birthday, preparing herself for a potions test or even trying to remember the names of the seven cats a senile old woman owned.

Oh, no. No such things. At that very moment she was pressed up against the wall in the girl's washroom, her mind drawing a blank when it came to registering what was going on as a pair of lips fiercely collided with hers in an ultimately too short kiss.

But one thing became evident to her as the other girl walked out the doors; smirking victoriously. A whole new spot would need to be cleared up for Pansy Parkinson.

_Author's note : I had this idea in my head, but I'm not sure it got out properly. Hope it made sense, anyways_


	4. Stripes

_Author's note : The title "Stripes" is making an allusion to "earning your stripes", or gaining honors. You'll see real quick how this ties in :3_

Stripes

Badges of courage; testaments to her strength. That's what Pansy Parkinson called them, the scars and cuts on her body.

At this moment she was very animated in retelling how she'd gotten the burn that ran from her knee to mid-shin. She was enthusiastically waving her arms around her as she talked - no one stood within three feet of her, out of fear of getting beat by the flailing appendages - and her voice was so loud it could probably be heard down the next corridor. A whole crowd of young Slytherins gathered around her, making it nearly impossible to bypass them in the normally large hallway.

She spoke in a haughty tone, bordering on vain, to which I could only roll my eyes.

"See this scar here, on my arm?" I could clearly imagine her raising her sleeve, motioning to the raw skin; around me I felt the students lean in to see as I continued to elbow my way through. "Got it a year ago while in Egypt - bloody hot as hell over there - and some purse cutter tried to jump me..." I kind of tuned her voice out, then, catching only the most excited snippets of her narratives.

Every now and then there'd be a collective "Ooh!" and "Ah!" from the crowd, mixed in with comments of great admiration for the Prefect. A wave of false laughter would sometimes wash them all over when they sensed something that was meant to be funny was just said.

Personally, I was annoyed. Both with the crowd of students that slowed my passage through the hallway and with her egoistical tales. Mostly with Pansy, though. Much as I love her, nothing got on my nerves more than when she was like this, and at that moment there was nothing I wanted to do more than to shut her up.

"Parkinson," I called out, she stopped talking and turned her gaze my way. There was a mix of contempt and surprise in her eyes. "Why won't you tell them where the bruises on your neck came from?" I offered slyly, my voice dripping with venom.

She reached for her neck, flustered, massaging the tiny marks. For once she was at a lack for words. A few incoherent sounds dropped from her slacked jaw; I smirked and made my way past the crowd, which voluntarily cleared a way for me. As I walked down the hall I could hear questioning murmurs, wondering about the nature of the bruises. I, of course, knew where the bruises came from : a particularly heated make-out session last night in the library.

They were my trophies. _My_ badges of victory which she was forced to wear.


	5. Questionning

_Author's Note : This is terribly late, I know, and I've had this done in parts since last week, it was just a matter of actually finishing it. You can blame the Sims for the tardiness, yeh :3_

Questioning

Tonight is the night of the Yule Ball. Event that, even in a world where magic is commonplace, could only be described as "magical". The halls are empty and the paintings without their habitual occupants. Not a soul at Hogwart's - alive, dead or otherwise - would miss this evening.

Yet far from the seasonal music playing in the Hall, from the joy-filled giggles of girls, from the antics of excited boys, far in the Room of Requirement were two students; Pansy waiting around as the other casts musical spells.

She steps towards Hermione as she puts her wand away. "You place your hands here," She gently takes her hands and guides them to her shoulders, "And I here." she states simply, and rests her own on the girl's hips.

She starts into the dance when the other girl stops them, feet firmly planted, a look of indignation on her face. Pansy holds back a chuckle, biting her lip as she looks down at her; her expression is cute, not nearly as cross as she probably thinks it is. "What?" The Slytherin asks, lightly drumming her fingers on Hermione's sides, impatient.

"Why is it..." She pauses, not to collect her thoughts - she already knows what she's going to say - but to decide whether or not it's even worth mentioning. With a determined air she gets it out, her brow slightly lowered : "Why is it that you're leading?" She pulls her arms away and crosses them over her chest; she wants to be taken seriously.

"Because I'm taller; the guy's taller and he leads. So, by that logic, I lead." Pansy says plainly, like it was common knowledge, like the question wasn't worth asking in the first place. She tentatively reaches out for Hermione's hands, chuckling, but she pulls away, still frowning.

"That doesn't make sense!" She replies, outraged. "The guy is just as often shorter, and he still leads-" Pansy tries to reach for her again, frowning herself, but the Griffindor briskly steps back. "And don't tell me it's because I'm too weak to lead. I'm just as capable."

At this point both are just as irritated. Pansy, because they aren't actually dancing as planned - and also, maybe, because her authority is being challenged. Hermione, for having her question so blatantly dismissed as a silly thing. There's a long silence during which the two of them simply glare at each other - refusing to so much as blink.

Then, Pansy steps forward and forcefully takes the Hermione's hands. She places them on her shoulders, like nothing never happened, and starts to lead a restless Hermione into dance again. In the same tone of voice as earlier - like Hermione should know the answer - she whispers : "I lead because you're the pretty one."

Hermione instantly calms down, and willingly follows her as they dance, a smile pulls at her lips and she rests her head in the crook of Pansy's neck : "I guess that makes sense."


	6. Sixty Seven Percent

Sixty-Seven Percent

3 percent - The difference between our grade point averages, so why do you still ignore me?

15 percent - How much of my time is spent teasing you every week, then how much of it I spend scolding myself for it.

38 percent - The percentage of my day that is spent in the same room as you; how badly I wish you'd look back at me, watching you.

67 percent - How many more 'friends' I have, but I suppose it doesn't matter because they don't include you.

82 percent - The amount of time you spend with that Weasley boy; the degree of my hatred for him.

100 percent - How certain I am that I love you, but also that you'll never feel the same.

_Author's Note : This ended up being so much more bitter-sweet than I wanted, I was actually a bit sad while writing it, since it was originally supposed to be... Happier._


	7. Standing Still

_Author's Note : This is so late it's not even funny. I've had this story started since April and just never got around to finishing it because of school and the like. My sincerest apologies to those who watch this!  
What I find really sad, though. Is that since my last update only four stories tagged as having Pansy and Hermione in them have been update - I mean, really? I found this disheartening, which really motivated me to get this out here faster for those of you who also like this pairing :3_

_I'll probably be absent during most of August, as I'm traveling across the West, but I'll try to get some updates done before then and during the trip if I can connect to the internet. I'll also take this chance to re-read the Harry Potter books - I really want to write a Ginny/Katie fic and need to get a better handle on the characters._

Standing Still

Pansy Parkinson was a force to be reckoned. When she walked down the halls, students parted like the oceans for Moses so that she could pass. When she cracked a joke - funny or not - all around her laughed. When she snapped her fingers, it was like she cast a spell that lured eager first years to come be at her beck and call. And you can be damn certain that if she called "Jump!" almost everyone in the immediate vicinity would do just that. Unshakable, many would say.

However, there was the matter of a certain brown-haired, bright young girl who held the same kind of power over her as she herself had over what seemed to be all of the student body. "Hermione", the name alone was enough to paralyze her - consequently, when she reached for the door to the Potions class and heard the name called she paused and looked around. It didn't take long for her gaze to fall upon the girl.

She held the door open as she passed by - accompanied by the Weasley boy - and, unable to do much else, her eyes followed the Griffindor into the class until a loud snap brought her back to herself. Draco looked up at her funny, eyebrows arched questioningly. She scowled as an impish, knowing smirk drew itself upon his lips.

"Imperio?" Malfoy teased with a tone of malice, low enough for only her to hear, he tilted his chin as to indicate Hermione through the pane of glass on the door. There was a short moment during with she was stunned, at a lack for words, simply staring at him with lowered brow.

"Of course not. Shut-up." Pansy grumbled. She quickly gained her composure back and handed him a brisk blow on the side head before she entered the classroom in a huff.


	8. Light

Light

It amazes me, and still to this day, the tenacity with which you apply yourself to your studies. The day before an evaluation - even late into the night while I make my final rounds - I can see you still at it in the library, be it reading, writing or vigorously practicing wand motions.

However, I must admit that it is not your proudest times, when you're so greatly invested in your learnings. For one, your hair - which I find is usually delightfully frizzy - becomes a voluminous monster, acting in ways of it's own accord. Your lips, normally bearing an endearing pout-like smile, contort into shapes of frustration which I could never attribute to them. What's more, you bite at those infernal nails of yours and, when deep into the night, there are dark, heavy bags under your eyes. And let us not forget how you perspire, your forehead often beaded with sweat - for that is how intent you are.

It's not a pretty sight. You become like the Medusa, as I can't help myself but to compare.

Despite this, I always stop and stare. It is that one moment - the instant where you look up from your books or what-ever it may be that you were working on just then - and that there is that light in your eyes. It is this radiant glow of contentment at one's success and it captivates me fully, makes me overlook all those other boorish qualities about you at the time and, instead, wish that I could participate with you in this enlightening instant.


	9. Dark

_Author's Note : I've been on a role lately! The first version of Dark that I'd written was much different - and much longer. However, I decided not to post it as I might be using the premise for a stand-alone Pansy/Hermione fic, we'll see, yeh? :3_

Dark

You sent me an owl shortly after supper detailing where we were to meet tonight. 'Astronomy tower staircase' it said simply. You always seem to pick the most unorthodox places - last week it was by the deformed bust of some unrecognizable wizard - but I deal with this eccentricity of yours, I find it endearing, actually. However, what I can't tolerate is that you always want for both of our wands to be out.

You want it to be dark.

Why you're inclined to do so escapes me. It can't be to disguise yourself, I know fully well who you are and you who I am. It can't be because of your appearance, I often tell you how attractive I find you and know that you lack no self-confidence. I tell myself that it can only be to lessen the odds that we get caught, but I somehow find that hard to believe. It is with this uncertainty that I met you in the staircase.

At the moment I was deeply involved in exploring every aspect of your hand, distractedly playing at your fingers when the question of your need for darkness was pushed to the forefront of my mind. I gently cleared my throat, "You've really out done yourself," I said absently, while still playing with your hand. You grunted some sort sound that conveyed your confusion. "This is possibly the darkest location you've decided on yet."

"What do you mean?" Came your snappy reply - I noted long ago that you constantly feel the need to defend yourself and so the tone of voice did little to startle me. "You always want it to be dark, why?" I pressed, you pulled your hand away from me as you entered a contemplative state. Not without an exasperated sigh you answered me. "Because the dark is anonymous." You stated simply, but you must've felt my confusion as you continued with your explanation: "In the dark I'm not a Slytherin and you're not a Griffindor. We're just two people in love."

"I like your reasoning." I smiled as you leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss on my lips.


	10. Seeking Solace

_Author's Note : There's no excuse for this to be late, the idea for this story had been floating around in my head for a good week now, I just never got around to writing it X3  
I started re-reading Harry Potter a short while ago, end of June maybe, and right now I'm at the 5th volume. This is as much for my entertainment as it is for research for my GinnyxKatie Bell fic. Yes I am going to write it, damn it, I'm dedicated! _

Seeking Solace

Hurtful gossips whispered under breaths and malicious giggles behind my back; snide remarks made at my expense and insults dripping with venom; even the occasional cuts and bruises. These are common occurrences for me and that I accept them as so disturbs me, actually. To call this simple 'schoolyard bullying' would be a vast understatement : I am getting assaulted on a daily basis for the singular reason that I am me - that I exist - by the seeming task force dedicated to tormenting me, headed by none other than you.

Sometimes it is too much, this feeling that I need to release all my pent up frustrations, the tears held in for too long now. I've tried dealing with it in all usual teenage manners, but crying into a pillow late night or eating junk foods but it simply does not satisfy. I find myself craving a physical contact, someone to tell me that it'll be okay. However, I could never consult my friends about how much it affects me. They stomach the teasings resulting from this Griffindor-Slytherin rivalry without so much as flinching. I wouldn't want to seem like the weaker. I refuse plain and simple to turn to them for support.

This is where you come in. When I'm overwhelmed by these emotions I always end up curling up onto your lap and weeping to my hearts content. I know that there's a sadistic smile on your lips just then : you enjoy seeing that your malicious labors bear fruits, but I try my best to not think about it, I need to believe that I'm getting helped by someone who cares me, loves me. I try to force myself not to return to you time and again, I really do - it isn't healthy to search solace in the arms of the very person who causes one so much pain, after all - but when you pet my hair and whisper for me to hush into my ear I can't help but to feel calmed.

I think there's something wrong with me.


	11. Misfortune

Misfortune

All through morning, I've been catching ends of conversations, excited bits of gossip between students. It would seem that the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Remus Lupin, had planned quite the exciting class which included a live specimen. By lunch the rumor had spun wildly out of control : some claiming he'd brought in a werewolf (the eventual irony of this statement did not escape me), many that it was a harpy, and others still that it was a dragon. Luckily, I'd learned the truth much before it was distorted so, and the reality turned out to be more frightful than werewolves, harpies or dragons.

It would appear that he had brought a Boggart.

The creature by itself is little frightening and defeating it is no great feat. What worried me was not the beast, but what it would transform itself into. It has always been said of me that I am a person without fear, but I'm not arrogant enough to ever brag of it myself. Because I know that, truly, there are some things that I fear and right now, there is nothing that terrifies me more than the thought of seeing you crying. Or seeing you dead - but I can simply not bring myself to think of that so I know that it would not transform itself into such a horrid scene.

It is so that it came that I headed towards my afternoon Defense Against the Dark Arts class with a tremendous weight upon my shoulders and a heavy heart. In surplus to having my worst fears come true, the whole lot of Slytherins would come to realize my affections for you.

I fleetingly considered pretending to be sick, but that would most likely make me seem weak to my comrades. I even pleaded to the unknown powers of the Universe - in which I don't believe - to strike me dead right then and there. That, however, did not happen. So I submissed myself to my fate, trying, withing the couple of minutes that it took me to walk to the class, to change what it is that frightens me. To little avail, of course.

I hesitantly walked into the class, all nerves as I took my seat. My fingers drummed the desk and I fidgeted on my seat, impatient to get this torture over; I immediately stopped when I noticed the odd looks Millicent was giving me, returning it with a peeved scowl.

It is then that the professor entered the class, I first noticed his shabby appearance, but afterwards that he carried no creature and the words that afterwards came out of his mouth made me release a long breath I didn't know I was holding. "Students, please take out your books and open them--" the rest of his sentence was lost under the muttering of disappointed students and I myself simply tuned him out, thanking my luck. What followed the dying out of the disgruntled mumbles, though, was a class that could only be described as little engaging and I couldn't help but think that, just maybe, facing the Boggart wouldn't've been so bad compared to the mind numbing lecture.

After all, as much as I'd hate to see you cry, the simple sight of you would be very uplifting right now.

_Author's Note : This story really lost the effect it had as an idea once I got around to actually writing it..._ _Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this late update regardless!_


End file.
